I am bending,

picking up cedar and pine lumber spilled by a speeding truck.

I am a bleak schoolyard blighted by chain link fences and cracked asphalt,

and repulsed by the sight of too much hysterical bravery.

I am a child digging in the dirt,

smelling magnolias, tasting chard, rosemary and ground cherries.

I am a disagreement behind closed doors,

and the vitality of the struggle.

I am a ridiculous military adventure,

and dissolved Indian sovereignty.

I am a lonesome shuffle between the roadhouse bar stool and the church pew,

and a pair of shined shoes and a bag of sold peanuts.

I am a shallow trench, and a tool that resembles a spear.

I am cow hide used for cosmetics,

and a pearly light shone through a lifting layer of fog.

I am the interstate shut down because of snow, and a set of flirtatious eyes.

I am logjams of lust, and the ruins of the amphitheatre.

I am a Mexican farm worker met with hostility,

and the social and economic chaos that immigrants create.

I am an apostle of peace,

and the spirit of the vendetta.

I am a hockey night in Canada,

and a sushi lover paying a premium for fatty meat.

I am a rollerblader in Central Park,

and relentless as a researcher.

I am a kid from New Jersey fighting in Afghanistan,

and firewood for cooking.

I’m the cold ground of Montana dirt,

and freshly dug entrenchments at Harlem Heights.

I’m a girl shouting encouragement,

whose ropily muscled arms and legs remind one of a lean chicken.

I’m a child who finds it hard to approach this world with hope, enthusiasm, and trust.

I’m a fight between a monkey and a lion,

and a taxi driver asleep in a shiny black cab.

I am laughter,

and the blood from the feet of homeless men who wear broken shoes.

I am the Sweet Science of Boxing,

and a gesture of reassurance and a bold wager on the future.

I am an accident assured to happen.

I am boredom,

and exceptional psychological strength.

I am wines to woolens,

and the restoration of flagging spirits.

I’m a recycling center where cans and bottles turn into cash.

I’m a migrant worker picking frozen peas,

and a clodhopper hiding behind a white sheet.

I’m an anarchistic novelty,

and a wealthy realtor.

I’m the Ego and Its Own,

and a compassionate participant in the world.

I’m a shootout at Ruby Ridge,

and a freefall of flames.

I am closed for the winter,

and crawling in my playpen.

I am cold,

and quick chatter and beautiful smiles.

I am a man missing a limb,

and lettuce and tomatoes.

I am a palace,

and fresh milk and goat cheese.

I’m the great emptiness among Cubans,

and a job that requires the auditing of truth and lies.

I’m a confounding calm that will shatter fear and complacency,

and a town full of self-defined renegades and recluses.

I’m a public execution,

and a lanky husband waiting by the checkout.

I’m free to oppose and criticize,

and a mountaintop removed to expose a coal vein in Appalachia.

I’m a house whitewashed to minimize the brutal aesthetic,

and a bus with cushy seats and drink service.

I’m a truck carrying cedar and pine lumber,

overturned somewhere along Idaho’s Highway 12.

 

Relephant Reads:

How to Rock a Summer Road Trip Solo.

~

Author: Brian D’Ambrosio

Editor: Travis May

Images: Author’s Own